Christmas in Iceland - 15.12.1940, Blaðsíða 11

beloved rector iying in a heap at the foot
of the stairs. But what they saw was even
more terrible. They saw nothing.
They ran out of the door, which was
standing open, but the only thing that could
be seen was the rectors horse, standing nuzz-
ling at the stable gate, asking to be let in.
Tucked under the saddle were the rector’s
gloves and whip, just as he had left them
when he dismounted. No other living being
could be found, though they searched till
dawn.
The next day they widened the search.
They questioned the man whose duty it had
been to escort the rector that night. His
story was that he had performed his duty
faithfully, seeing the rector back as far as
the gate at the end of the drive. Here the
rector had told him to go home, saying that
he would surely be safe for the few yards that
separated him from his own front doorstep.
That was the last that anyone ever saw of
him. They continued to search for him far
and wide, but with little hope of success, and
finally the hunt was called off, with the ques-
tion still unanswered.
But one man refused to give up hope —
old torsteinn, the farm hand who had found
“Mad Solveig” with her throat cut, deter-
mined to find out, if he could, what had
happened to his master. For this, he enlisted
the help of GuSlaug, the woman who used
to sleep with Solveig, for GuSlaug was reput-
ed to have second sight, and indeed, some
said that she was a witch, horstein’s scheme
was that he should sleep wita some of the
rector’s clothes and other things under his
pillow, while GuSlaug should, watch by his
bedside, to see what might come.
To begin with, GuSlaug saw that horsteinn
found it difficult to get to sleep, but finally,
after some tossing and turning, he lay
still and quiet. Then, quite suddenly, “Mad
Solveig” was leaning over him. She had some-
thing in her hand — what it was GuSlaug
could not see at first. That hand moved slowly
out over the sleeping horstein’s head,
and GuSlaug saw to her horror that it con-
tained a knife — the very knife with which
Solveig had taken her own life, horsteinn
M esse rsch mitts
Ten little Messerschmitts flying in a line
One met a Hurricane, then there were nine.
Nine little Messerschmitts on a job of hate,
Ran into Ack-Ack, then there were eight.
Eight little Messerschmitts zooming down
from heaven.
One hit a barrage blimp, then there were
seven.
Seven little Messerschmitts trying all their
tricks,
One'got a black-out then there were six.
Six little Messerschmitts forced into a dive,
Up popped some Home Guards, then there
were five.
Five little Messerschmitts feeling somewhat
sore,
Swooped on a trawler, then there were four.
Four little Messerschmitts heading out to sea,
One met a Hudson then there were three.
Three little Messerchmitts, harting through
the blue.
Swerved on a convoy, then there were two.
Two little Messerschmitts, each complete with
Hun,
Had a collision then there was none.
No little Messerchmitts. When Joe Goebbels
learned.
Out went the bulletin, „A11 of ours returned”.
began to move uneasily in his sleep, grima-
cing fearfully, and muttering indistinct
words. GuSlaug sprang to her feet — and
the white figure with the knife vanished.
When GuSlaug woke horsteinn and asked
him what he had dreamt, he answered that
he had seen Solveig coming to him across the
floor, and heard her say, “It’s no good. You
will never find out what happened to Oddur
Gislason”. She then leant over and tried to
cut his throat, and he could not do anything
about it. “Even now”, he went on, “I can still
feel a sort of burning pain on my throat,
where the knife touched”. Without a word,
GuSlaug rose, took a mirror from the wall,
and held it up to him. The blood was oozing
in a tiny trickle from a thin red mark across
his throat.
CHRISTMAS IN ICELAND
B